


things left unsaid

by tooruful



Series: April Showers [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Grief/Mourning, Lists, M/M, Post-Canon, Relationship Study, Sad, Slice of Life, tw: impled suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-30 09:00:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6417280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tooruful/pseuds/tooruful
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All the things Kuroo wished he should've told Kenma before it was too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	things left unsaid

**Author's Note:**

> this takes place 2 yrs after the previous work. but you don't need to read that one to understand. all aboard the sad train

**1\. I couldn’t cry when I got the news and I can’t stop feeling guilty about it.**

 

He remembered walking back to his apartment after a long day of rounds at the hospital. He had been assigned night shift. It was hell. He remembered unlocking, probably, the front door to his apartment, stumbling out of his shoes, then collapsing on the couch in his living room. Those few extra steps to the bed were one too many. He remembered his phone buzzing violently. The first few calls he ignored, by the fourth one, he was getting irritated. It must be important, he thought. He swiped to answer, not registering the ID, and heard shattering sobs greet him.

“Tetsu?” His mother. His mother was crying. His mother who only cried over those awful dramas she watched. His mother who never, not once in his entire life, called him crying. He bolted upright, becoming instantly light-headed at the sudden motion.

“Mom?” He forced himself to swallow, to keep the panic at bay. Maybe she was just having a bad day? Maybe she’d just watched a sad scene in her drama and had wanted to call him for some other reason that she’d remembered. Moments passed as he waited for her to reply. Nothing. “Mom?” He tried again. His throat involuntarily tensing.

“Tetsu,” she hiccupped. “I have,” her voice shook, “I have to tell you,” she trailed off as he heard more sobs wrack through her body and then his father’s voice cut through, “It’s about Kenma.” His hand squeezed his phone. Kenma. His heart pounded roughly. Painful.

“I’m sorry, Tetsu,” his father said, voice quiet. “He’s gone,” he father’s voice broke. Gone? The word resonated, hollow. Gone. Gone. Gone. As in gone on vacation? As in gone on an errand? As in gone to visit his grandparents? As in...he worked his throat, trying to get the questions to come out, but nothing. “Tetsu?” He kept pushing air through vocal chords, trying to get the the air vibrations to make a noise, a word. Yes. He just wanted to answer. He wanted his father to see that he was nodding. That he was there. He forced himself to cough. It was enough. “They found his b--him, they found him in his apartment. They tried to…” his father trailed off. “They couldn’t do anything though. Too much time had already passed.” His father’s words reached him through what might as well have been a wind tunnel. So much white noise. So much empty sound crashing against his eardrums. “Come home as soon as you can, Tetsu,” his father sighed, leaving a heavy silence after. “Call us. We love you.” With that his father ended the call.

He wanted to throw the phone against the wall. Gone. Instead he flipped open his laptop and began looking for flights home. There was one that would leave in a few hours. Gone. He finished packing by throwing in a fresh pair of underwear in a suitcase. He headed towards the bathroom to shower. Water. Water would help. Gone. He stood in the shower. Stock still. Letting it wash over him. Gone. He wanted to cry. Nothing. No tears. Just emptiness.

 

 

 

**2\. Why didn’t you tell me? I should’ve known. I should’ve been been able to pick up the signs.**

 

They last time they’d seen each other in person was over his short spring break. Although his friends always wondered why he took the 10 hour flight back Japan when he could’ve stayed and relaxed with them during a much needed rest period instead of adding international travel to his stress list, he insisted on going home. He needed it for himself. He needed to see Kenma. Hearing his voice just wasn’t enough. And although they’d videochat, something about physically having Kenma’s body next to his, just walking next to him was enough, it was different. It was what kept him going through the months of being alone in America. It was kept him believing that he had made the right choice for his future, for their future. He never gave up hope on that.

He’d gone over to Kenma’s apartment once he’d reached the city. It had become a common enough occurrence that their parents never questioned it. He used the spare key to let himself in and found the apartment dark, Kenma sitting in front of his computer screen, a blanket wrapped around his small form, typing away at something. Kenma had on his headphones. Hadn’t heard him enter. Had yelped in an adorable manner when he’d approached and wrapped his arms around in greeting.

Kenma’s breaths came in small huffs of frustration and shock as he disentangled himself from the embrace. Easily, they decided to go out to eat; Kenma didn’t have any food in the apartment. That should’ve been a sign, now thinking back. Even though Kenma wasn’t one to cook extravagant meals, he’d always had rice and some eggs in the fridge, but this spring break, there was nothing. He didn’t think much of it though, just assumed Kenma hadn’t had time to go shopping.

He asked the usual questions: how was Kenma doing? How was school? The signs were so obvious and if he hadn’t been so absorbed in seeing what he wanted to see, just Kenma, then maybe he would’ve been able to catch it. Kenma was tired. Kenma didn’t feel like talking much to the friends that he had made or leaving the apartment. Kenma wasn’t really sure he had made the right choice. Kenma was second guessing everything. Kenma was tired. If only he’d listened more carefully, he would’ve seen. He would’ve known. It was all there for him. It was Kenma telling him in his own way.

But he had been so happy seeing Kenma, being around Kenma, that he gave his usual responses that every would be alright. That soon he would be finished med school and that he would come home to take care of Kenma, just like before. It was only a few more years. And Kenma had nodded, not elaborating, not fighting with him on any of it, seeming to accept what he had said, and sat, picking at the shoyo ramen.

God it had been so clear. So blatant. And if he hadn’t been so caught up in his happiness, in his joy at seeing the other, then maybe, just maybe...

 

 

 

**3\. I should’ve listened more carefully to the things you were saying. Or the things you didn’t say.**

 

Silence. That had been a constant in their relationship. Each one was a little different. There was the comfortable silence after a long day. Angry silence after the time he’d accidentally messaged Kenma during a particularly difficult combo during a game. The quiet silence of both of them doing their own things during a hot summer day or a cool rainy spring one. The happy silence of Kenma eating apple pie. There was the sad silence of their first goodbye the day he had left to go to America for college. Silence. He had been able to read them all, except one.

 

 

 

**4. You are loyal. You are the most loyal person I know. You will be the most loyal person I will ever know.**

 

During his last year in middle school, he had gotten in trouble for lying about something he hadn’t done. For two months everyone in his class had either ignored him or glared at him, depending on their level of judgment, their level of self-righteousness and self-importance. But only, Kenma believed him outright. Not that he’d expected otherwise of his childhood friend. But, Kenma, he had done something out of the ordinary.

One day, he had walked behind the school, trying to figure out what to do with his time as he’d gotten suspended for a week from practice and found Kenma bloody, on the ground. Curled in a ball. Not making a sound. Eyes tightly shut. Red, he hadn’t thought this phenomenon was real, flashed across his vision as he ran over to his friend.

He helped Kenma to his feet. Asked, pried, what had happened. Eventually, Kenma told him and he’d wanted to go find those kids and beat them until they couldn’t remember their own names. Kenma kept a tight hold on his arm, though, refusing to let go, refusing to let him get into more trouble, refusing to let him have his revenge. “Those kids,” Kenma said, wincing, “aren’t worth it.” He wanted to relax, to tell Kenma that he was right, but the wince had broken something inside of him and he’d started to cry.

All the anger that had been building the last two months, all the injustice he had been feeling, all the hurt and betrayal by someone he’d once thought was his friend, it all came pouring out. Instead of comforting his injured friend, there Kenma was comforting him, telling him that it would be alright. That people would realize that he, Kuro, was always kind. And soon, people would be coming to ask for his forgiveness.

Kenma, like always, had been right. People came to apologize. People came to sit with him during his breaks again. People came to chat with him after class. People looked to him as the captain of the middle school volleyball team. People forgave. People forgot. But only, Kenma had gotten beaten up for standing up for him during those two months.

 

 

 

**5\. You’ve made be a better person. Without your trust. Without you by my side, I never would’ve been able to have the confidence to open up to people again. To trust people again. I never would’ve had the confidence to be me.**

 

Although Kenma snorted through all the times he’d repeated that Nekoma chant during high school, the trust was there. The confidence in him was there. The complete faith that he would do what was best for Kenma, for the team, for them, it drove him. It led him down this path. It gave him the courage to go outside his comfort zone, knowing that Kenma would be at the end of the road waiting for him. That Kenma would be there no matter what happened. That he would return home to Kenma in the end, either successful or defeated by the world, and there would be no judgment from those golden eyes.

That assurance. It allowed him, selfishly, to be himself, knowing that Kenma would always be by his side regardless of the decisions, stupid ones included, he made.

 

 

 

**6\. More than anything, I wish I could’ve returned the favor of everything that you’ve done for me. That’s why I wish I’d known. Or that I’d been able to see through the fog of my own life to see what you were going through. You have me a second chance at life, by always giving me a second chance when I messed things up. I wish I could’ve done the same.**

 

That was what he’d been thinking through the whole funeral. How he wished more than anything that he had been able to give Kenma the second chance, the will to live that second chance. That he could’ve shown Kenma, somehow, the Kenma that he saw.

The Kenma that would always be strong. A mental fortitude that he honestly envied, especially when times got tough for them during volleyball games or exam season or when they had to split up for university. The Kenma that would always be incredibly kind even though he would never admit it. The times Kenma would buy snacks for his kohai; the time he helped cheer Lev up after a particularly bad day. The Kenma that would forever be his most loyal friend. The Kenma that would remain his most trusting companion. Never once doubting any of his decisions. Never once trying to hold him back from anything, his goals, crazy vague ideas that he had.

Maybe if Kenma had just once, held him back, he wouldn’t have been standing there, in front of Kenma’s wet grave.

 

 

 

**7\. I’m sorry. Even though perhaps there was nothing I could’ve done. I’m still sorry.**

 

He should’ve kept in contact more. He should’ve been better about it. He knew it wasn’t in Kenma’s nature to reach out, so he should’ve been the one doing that. He should’ve called more after that spring break. He should’ve...always he told himself that it was international time zones, but at the end of the day that was an excuse for his own laziness.

Kenma always told him, repeatedly, not to take any blame for things when it came to them. Not to be so hard on himself, but how could he not in this case? How could he not think of the what ifs? How could he not wish that he had called Kenma more, had spoken to him more, had texted him more, had video called him more, had saved all the voice messages, had recorded his voice? How could he not wish these things?

He should’ve told Kenma to text whenever, to call whenever. He should’ve reinforced it, but he didn’t because idiotically, he guessed, he assumed that Kenma knew. Kenma probably did know, but sometimes, just hearing it again was worth it. Hearing the words again and again, call whenever, text whenever, talk to him, reach out to him, repeat it like a broken record. Maybe. Maybe then it would’ve ended differently. Maybe then he wouldn’t visit the grave every spring. Maybe every spring he wouldn’t feel the numbness, but instead feel Kenma’s warmth next to him.

Any time. He should’ve said the words more. Any time Kenma needed to talk. Any time Kenma needed him, he would’ve been there. It was a plane ride away, true, but just a plane not two different life times.

 

 

 

**8\. I miss you. Not a spring has gone by since I haven’t thought of you.**

 

There were days now, when he wondered if he was remembering things correctly. The sound of Kenma’s voice. The smell of Kenma’s hair when he’d just taken a shower. The small frown that crossed Kenma’s face when he was concentrating, which was different than his frown of annoyance. Kenma’s smile. Kenma’s rare laugh. The feel of Kenma’s skin against his own calloused palm. The way the light reflected off his pudding hair when the sun was setting and they were walking by the river.

He worried that he wasn’t remembering their memories...rightly. That they were wrong. That there were small details he’d forgotten or he’d changed in his own mind because of time, because he didn’t like what had actually happened, because sometimes he did have selective memory. Before, Kenma had been in there to fill in the plot holes. And now...

Kenma held half of his memories. And every day, it felt like he was losing them, no matter how hard he struggled to keep them close, things, moments, expressions, quirks, all kept slipping away. It was like picking up a handful of sand at the beach and the grains would slip through his tightly clenched fist and when he tried to grasp them with his free hand, it wasn’t large enough or fast enough to grab every single one. And it hurt. As he watched them fall back to join the endless pile.

Was he doing Kenma justice? Was he doing Kenma’s memory justice? Was he doing 24 years of someone’s life justice? He’d realized how much he had been relying on Kenma to remember what he knew he would inevitably forget. He had always be counting on Kenma to be there. To live past him. It was selfish, but he’d had one year on Kenma, so he thought it would be fair for them to even it out later. God, he regretted thinking it, but he couldn’t help himself back then. And now, now each birthday passing felt like a punch to his gut, knowing that Kenma would never experience those years.

Would never see the family that he had been determined to start with Kenma. Would never the house that he had been planning to buy for them. Would never see their parents’ 60th birthdays. Would never see him get wrinkles. Would never see him walk with a cane. Would never see his own, Kenma’s own, 25th birthday.

He’d try harder to remember things right. Correctly.

 

 

 

**9\. 27 years and counting.**

 

Every April. He’d lay the number corresponding to the age Kenma would’ve been of apple blossoms on the simple grave.

This year, 26.

 

 

 

**10\. I love you.**

 

I love you.

I love your pudding hair

I love you.

I love your smile.

I love you.

I love your excitement for apple pie.

I love you.

I love your dislike of summer being too hot.

I love you.

I love your dislike of winter being too cold.

I love you.

I love your concentration when you’re playing video games.

I love you.

I love your eyes sparkling when you’ve seen something amazing.

I love you.

I love your complete trust.

I love you.

I love your silences.

I love you.

I love you always looking out for me.

I love you.

I love your warmth that you’ve allowed me to share.

I love you.

Kenma, my kitten, I love you.

I love you, my Kenma.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading. kudos/comments are appreciated. all mistakes are my own and will be fixed as i become aware of them. 
> 
> tumblr @ [sdaishou](http://sdaishou.tumblr.com)


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